


Balancing On Breaking Branches

by slightlyraspberry



Series: death by folklore [4]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, do with timelines what you will i'm too lazy to calculate, s7 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyraspberry/pseuds/slightlyraspberry
Summary: "This means Santos goes back to Texas. This means no move back to Washington, no little White House offices for the interns, no inauguration and “Hail to the Chief” and no change. There will be no long-lasting change that makes sure every kid is educated, no improvements to healthcare and social security, and God, certainly no progress. Change is done for."
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Series: death by folklore [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091939
Comments: 12
Kudos: 16





	Balancing On Breaking Branches

**Author's Note:**

> The fourth in the death by folklore series--this time to "exile." It’s taking a while but it’s still coming!

Nevada goes to Vinick, and the room goes quiet. 

The air suddenly feels thin, like they’re all about to start gasping for breath. Some aides look nervously around at each other, but mostly people are afraid to make eye contact for fear of crying or laughing or maybe both.

A newscaster blathers on about how it’s one of the closest elections in 20 some years. She’s shouting like a commentator at the World Series, but her words fall flat amidst the tableau of dead-eyed organizers.

Josh, equally dead-eyed, is looking at the television, one hand behind his head, mouth hanging open like he was about to say something, unblinking as he leans back.

This means Santos goes back to Texas. This means no move back to Washington, no little White House offices for the interns, no inauguration and “Hail to the Chief” and no change. There will be no long-lasting change that makes sure every kid is educated, no improvements to healthcare and social security, and God, certainly no progress. Change is done for.

Like a statue unfreezing, like some creepy imitation of _Night at the Museum_ , Josh comes back to life and snaps his fingers above his head. He never takes his eyes off of the TV, where talking heads are continuing to talk.

“Otto, get the Congressman a concession speech!” He’s back to the shouting volume of a busy campaign HQ, his voice ringing out unnervingly loud. 

The rest of the team is still near-frozen around him, gaping fishily at the television. Someone’s dampened the volume. Josh is still looking at the TV, but the rest of his body is already moving towards the next thing on the agenda.

“Which one?” Otto says quietly. He looks like he’s made of china, like he could break any minute. He’s not crying yet, but his voice is tight.

Josh starts pacing around the room, shifting around papers like he’s going to find a different ballot count under a stack of exit polls. “Doesn’t matter, just give me one. I need to go in there and talk to him.”

“Is he gonna concede?” Lou says. “He could contest this election, Josh. Think carefully.”

Josh looks at her imperiously. Lou straightens her back and pushes her glasses up, unflinching.

“And you tell me how that’s gonna look, Lou. You’re the communications director. The underdog Democrat, Bartlet’s boy, contesting one of the most revered Republican senators in modern history?” Josh grabs the sheet of paper Otto’s offering him, yanking it out of his hands and giving it a quick-once over as he moves to walk into the congressman’s quarters. “He’s not contesting the election.”

-

“I want to contest the election,” Santos says. Josh just stares at him. 

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“No, you don’t,” Helen repeats. “Honey, we talked about this.”

“He won by one state, Helen. One state! We have every right to contest.”

“Congressman, you’re talking crazy,” Josh says. “It’s a shock. I know you should’ve won, you know you should’ve won, and every person who so much as looked at San Antonio knows you should’ve won! But right now, you’re gracefully conceding. Can’t fight the electoral math. You are going to go out there—” Josh points at the door— “give this beautifully written speech Otto put together just for you, and go back to governing.”

Santos grudgingly takes the speech. “Do I need to change my tie or anything? Is there a pattern that better suits a loser?”

“You look fine,” Josh says. “Just look humble. You’re grateful to have been nominated.”

“It’s not a goddamn awards show,” Santos grumbles. 

“Will you just give the damn speech?” Helen bursts out. “You lost. It blows. There’s nothing we can do now. Just give the speech, and I’ll be waiting for you when you’re finished. We’ll figure it out.” She puts her hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, honey. You’re going to run again, and you’re going to win, but for right now, the most important thing is that you concede and do your job again.”

“You’re right,” Santos relents. “Okay. I’ll go and give the speech. Can I just—have a minute to process?”

His phone goes off, loud and brash in the fragile air. 

“That’ll be the President-Elect, Congressman,” says Josh. “You should probably pick up.” 

Santos flips open the phone and puts it to his ear. “Congratulations, Mr. President-Elect. Yeah. Uh-huh. No, thank you. Really, I’m glad to hear it.” 

Josh is straining to hear Vinick’s voice, but all he can make out is the wah-wah-wah of adults like in _Charlie Brown_. His own phone pings. He looks down to see a text from Bruno, and hits the power button as fast as he’s able. What a smug bastard Bruno is. 

“Yes, Mr. President-Elect,” says Santos into the phone. “I’ll pass it on. No, really. Congratulations. Uh-huh. Buh-bye.” He snaps the phone shut and shoves it violently into his jacket pocket. 

“So I’ve gotta go give this speech?” He looks over at where Josh is standing. 

Josh blinks. “Uh, yeah. Reporters are waiting. Good luck, Mr.—good luck, Congressman.”

Santos pecks Helen on the lips and stands, making his way through the door and out of the hotel, into the throng of reporters.

Josh sits next to Helen and flips channels until he finds one broadcasting the concession speech. He mutes it, and they watch as Matt speaks into a microphone. Lou holds a clipboard and hawkishly watches the crowd of reporters in the background. Shit—why didn’t he make Helen stand there next to him? 

It’s too late now, though. Matt’s mouth moves silently on the screen. Josh’s Blackberry sounds off. Helen clasps her hands in her lap, her jaw clenched. Out of the corner of his eye, Josh sees her wipe what might be a tear away from her face. 

The cell phone rings and rings into the empty air. No one answers.

-

Josh is wallowing. Josh has been wallowing for about six months now. He’s found a job, which is something, but he’s wallowing all the same. 

“Josh, you’re wallowing,” Donna says. 

“I’m a man of great stature. I don’t… wallow,” he says from the couch, which is swallowing him up in its great depths like a cocoon of brown leather. A baseball game plays in the background. He must have recorded it the night before—baseball doesn’t go on at 3 on Saturday afternoons. At least, not as far as Donna knows. 

She tries to look over at Josh from behind the kitchen counter, but the back of the couch blocks her view. “You do, and you are,” she replies. “When are you going to start living again?”

She sees a hand shoot up from the couch. The hand hits a button on the remote and the baseball game goes silent. Josh’s head pops out of the cocoon, and he gives Donna a disgruntled look. “You wouldn’t say I’m alive?”

“Barely. You go into work, you come home, and you watch baseball, and that’s it. And sometimes you barely do that.”

“That’s not true!” Josh says. “I… um… I go on dates with you. I call C.J. I go on runs.”

“You call C.J. because she’s your boss, and you only go on dates because I force you to,” Donna says. She walks over and leans against the arm of the couch where Josh’s feet rest, looking down into his eyes. His toes press into her belt buckle. “Face it, Josh. You’re wallowing. You’ve gotta stop.”

“If I am wallowing, which I’m not,” says Josh, “What would you suggest I do to fix it?” He flops his head back into the cocoon of couch cushions.

“Well, you can’t put life on hold until Matt runs again. You just can’t.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Donna.”

“I don’t know! Write a book! Learn a craft! You need something to give you purpose, Josh.” Donna pushes Josh’s feet out of the way and sits on the arm of the couch. 

“I don’t lack purpose.”

Donna looks at the TV, then back to Josh. “Look at yourself. You’re watching a baseball game that aired two weeks ago.”

“I’m watching it for the art.”

“Of baseball?”

“It’s an artful sport!” 

“Josh.” Donna gives him a look. 

“So what if I lack purpose? Primary campaigning starts in, like, a year, anyway.”

“You can’t—Josh, you lost. You have to move on to the next thing.”

Josh grunts. “Donna, will you just leave me alone? I’ll find a purpose, or whatever. Just—after the game.”

“Fine,” Donna says. “I’m going out. I have actual work to do.”

“With whom?” Josh calls after her. “Wishy-washy Will?”

“Screw you!” Donna shouts over her shoulder as she walks out the door. She doesn’t really mean it, but she needs some space right now.

She doesn’t go to the office. She doesn’t go anywhere near the office. Donna makes a beeline to her favorite little coffee shop far away from their new place but very near her old one, setting up her laptop as she fumes. She munches on a blueberry scone while she types up some social copy for Will’s latest initiative. As she types, she wonders how Josh has lost his passion for this—for the constant work, for the thrill of working on something bigger than yourself.

Donna goes home and Josh is gone. He calls her the next morning with a half-hearted apology on his lips, which she accepts, but she doesn’t invite him back.

They fall apart in too-muches and I’m-sorrys and no-yous, in flickering, fragile passion, in blow-up fights and tender evenings and biting insults that they never apologize for. They fall apart in the beating summer and struggle to pick up the pieces in the autumn and separate in the bitter winter, almost a year after Vinick’s inauguration. 

They fall apart and they don’t talk. They see each other at hearings and press conferences and happy hours, but the truth of it is that Donna sees his byline in the paper more often than she ever sees Josh himself.

All that’s left are strands of what could have been. They’ve fallen through a misshapen spiderweb into empty beds as if the promise of togetherness was a dream they had forgotten by morning. And when they wake, they are alone.

-

Josh’s work life is all writing about and deducing other people’s politics. His social life is all other people’s engagements. He doesn’t know that he’s had an individual identity since 2006. 

He gets an invitation to Will and Kate’s wedding that’s addressed to Donna and throws it in the trash. After some careful thought, he gingerly fishes it out and pulls Donna’s number up on his Blackberry. The numbers brand themselves into his retinas even after he flips his phone shut, leaving the invitation on the counter to be dealt with later. He thinks about calling Donna all the time—when he’s working on a column, when he sees her on the Hill, when he sees any woman who’s five-nine and blonde. He never does, though.

In the end, he does go to Will and Kate’s wedding, even though his invitation is dubious. It’s sweet enough, if boring. He’s never quite known what to make of either of them—they seem an odd pairing, but then, it’s not his place to say.

Donna is, miraculously, working for Will again. Or perhaps working with him would be more accurate. She does his press and his appointments and goes to fight for him with all the other chiefs of staff. Josh heard she even finished her degree, took night classes at American. She’s here tonight, in a shimmering, short dress that shows off her legs.

She’s with someone.

He’s taller than Josh and has Donna on his arm, is handing her a flute of champagne, is making small talk with Will and Kate as they cross paths on the dance floor. She looks safe and happy with his arms around her. She looks the most content Josh has ever seen her.

He feels more alone than ever. He came without a date, after scrolling through his contacts and eventually realizing that he burned those bridges long ago. Once upon a time, Josh thought he wanted a bachelor’s life. But now, as he looks at Donna and her tall, fully-haired beau, all he can think about is how much he misses being with her.

He’s lingering by the bar, talking to a redhead over the free, cheap-tasting whiskey. “So how have I never met you before?” he says, taking a sip. She’s one of Will’s aides, and just barely too young for Josh. 

She starts to reply when Josh feels a tap on his shoulder. He looks behind him and here is Donna, as intimidatingly beautiful as ever, mysterious man on her arm. 

“Hi, Josh,” she says. “Been a while.”

Josh taps his finger on the rim of his whiskey glass a few times. “Uh.. yeah,” he says, nervously glancing at her companion. “Yeah. It has, huh?”

Donna nods in the aide’s direction. “I see you’ve met Cathy.” He can see the disapproval in her eyes. 

He leans into it. “Yeah, I was just wondering how we haven’t met before. Have you been hiding her from me or something?” He puts his hand on Cathy’s and looks at her. “You oughta be working for me, with a mind like yours.” He grins. Rather roguishly, he'd like to think.

“Don’t believe him, Cathy. He’s full of lies,” Donna says. “And I’m not just saying that because I don’t want to lose you.” She’s glaring at him pointedly.

Josh ignores her and sticks his hand out to her partner. “Josh Lyman. Donna and I used to date.”

The guy smiles infuriatingly calmly and shakes Josh’s hand firmly. “I know,” he says as he puts his hand in his pocket. “I’m Brent Keller. I work for Madison McNamara. Up on the Hill.”

“Huh,” says Josh. “I’m surprised we haven’t met.”

“We have. You just don’t remember.” Brent sips from his own glass. Josh starts to sputter, but Brent puts a hand up. “Don’t worry,” he says, chuckling. “It was a long time ago. I was barely out of school, and you were already in the White House.”

As if Josh needs another reminder that Donna’s found someone better. “Great,” he says. “That’s… great. It’s nice to meet you. Again. And to see you, Donna.”

Donna stares into his eyes. “Yeah,” she says. “It was.” She leans down and kisses Josh on the cheek. “I’ll see you around, Josh.” And then just like that, she’s gone, walking away with her hips swishing and her head held high. 

He turns back to Cathy, but she’s already getting up. “Sorry,” she says. “I should probably get to bed. Long night.” Josh half-heartedly waves goodbye and downs the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. He looks out on the dance floor, where Will and Kate are dancing in the way most people dance at weddings, all flying limbs and awkward shimmying. After five minutes, he makes his exit.

He gets blindingly drunk at home that night, too drunk for someone his age. As he falls into bed, suit half-off, he deletes Donna’s number before plugging his phone into the wall. _That’s it,_ he thinks. _I'm going to be alone forever._

-

Brent proposes after they’ve been dating for a year. It’s a little soon, Donna thinks, but she understands. They’re not getting any younger. 

He’s down on one knee in their favorite fancy Asian fusion place, and she says yes. Brent is safe, he’s handsome, and he knows exactly what he wants to do. Sometimes Donna still misses Josh’s whip-smart comebacks and nonstop pace, but she remembers the months after Santos lost and settles comfortably back into Brent’s arms.

She doesn’t think about Josh all that often, really. Actually, she thinks as she addresses his wedding invitation, this is the first time she’s thought about him since Will and Kate’s wedding.

Brent is leaning over her shoulder as she addresses envelopes. “Really?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “We’re inviting him?”

Donna looks up at him. “Why? You don’t think we should?”

Brent shrugs. “Whatever you want, babe. I just want you to be happy.” He puts his arms around her shoulders and kisses her cheek, lingering for a moment before he sits across from her and starts looking over the guest list.

They get married after six months of planning, right as the summer is turning to fall. It’s a big, beautiful wedding, with almost every acquaintance they’ve ever made in attendance. Donna doesn’t even notice Josh’s absence until Will points it out.

“So Josh didn’t show, huh?” Will asks as he spins her around. He’s stolen her for a dance. Kate is laughing with Brent and Sam, who’s flown all the way in from California, in the corner. 

Donna lands back in Will’s dance hold abruptly, shocked first by the realization that Josh isn’t there and second by the realization that she didn’t notice.

“Huh,” she says, almost wondrously. “I guess not.”

“I hear he’s consulting now. For a political firm.” Lanterns hanging from the ceiling emit a soft glow that glints off of Will’s glasses, making it hard for Donna to see his face.

“Hm. Neat,” Donna says, shrugging. “Anyway. How’s Kate?”

Will starts babbling on about married life and Oregon, and Donna eventually spins back into Brent’s corner. She catches up with Sam and Kate, and Brent excuses himself to go speak to an old college friend. 

It’s not until they’re in the car on their way to their honeymoon suite that Donna remembers what Will said about Josh. She turns to Brent. 

“Josh didn’t show up,” she says, hushed in the darkness of the back seat. 

Brent looks at her. “Lyman?” he whispers back.

“Yeah,” she says with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Will just reminded me.”

“Mm,” says Brent. He leans in. “Well. I’ll make you forget.” He kisses her, deep and long and passionate, and Josh slips out of Donna’s mind. 

-

Josh closes his newspaper. “Did she seem happy?” he asks Sam, who’s sitting across the table. Josh can see gray coming in at his temples in the bright morning light, and is suddenly reminded of how old they’re getting.

Sam takes a sip of his coffee. He looks at Josh, studying him, holding the coffee cup with both hands. 

“Yeah,” he says, placing the cup on the table. “Yeah, Josh, she did.”

Josh sighs and folds the newspaper up. “Huh. Good for her.”

Sam nods slowly, gazing at the passers-by on the sidewalk. “It comes for us all, in the end,” he says.

“What?” Josh asks.

Sam looks at him. “Love.”

“Not me,” Josh says. “I’m married to my work.”

Sam laughs dryly. “Evidently.” He knocks the metal table gently. He looks down at his knuckles, then back up at Josh. “Anyway. You were saying?”

Josh nods. “Yeah. So, the Iowa primary is two years from today. You in?”

Sam grins, just like he used to in the old days, and looks at Josh over his glasses. “Absolutely,” he says. “Just one question.

“What’s next?”

**Author's Note:**

> bittersweet :’)
> 
> thanks for reading! I live for kudos and comments. you can find me on tumblr @slightlyraspberry or twitter @samseabxrn!


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